


half a heart

by milkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: I ain't about that life, M/M, Makeup, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, also fuck formatting on here HONESTLY, go read it on tumblr if you want it to look pretty, lmao idk this will NEVER HAPPEN I know but I had the idea and it wouldn't leave me alone, thanks one direction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkovich/pseuds/milkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes it takes an outside perspective to<br/>show you that you’ve fucked up. ian/mickey.<br/>post 5x12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	half a heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the mickey to my ian](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+mickey+to+my+ian).



The knock came at 9:45 A.M.-- Ian knew this because he rolled over in bed, the house quiet, and groaned as loud as he could possibly manage as his eyes drifted to the clock. Everyone seemed to be out already, not that he was surprised, it was a Monday morning, after all. Cursing under his breath as the knocking turned into pounding, Ian stumbled to get out of bed, pulling an old tank over his head to accompany his boxers as he tiredly walked towards the stairs.

It was hard to ignore the sharp pain in his head, and it wasn’t as if the obnoxious banging was making it any better. Feet padding against the carpet as he finally got downstairs, he was finally fed up enough to shout out a “Cut it out already, fuck!” to which the banging stopped, much to his relief.

Yanking the door open, he could honestly say the guy standing there was the last fucking person on the planet he'd expect to be on the Gallagher’s porch. But, as easy as Ian was identified by his fiery red hair, he could still never forget those bright blue eyes, whether soft or hard.

He took a moment to study Mickey’s expression-- He looked tired, if the purple under his eyes was any indication. His hair was disheveled as if he’d left home without fixing it up like he’d began doing after finally declaring himself as Ian’s boyfriend.  
Swallowing back a “you shouldn’t be here,” Ian instead leaned against the door, not opening much further. Mickey said nothing, and Ian did the same, the two of them having a silent stare-off before Mickey waved around the cellphone that Ian had hardly noticed. He gestured to the house as if silently asking permission to enter, to which Ian reluctantly relented, opening the door enough for Mickey to enter.

The two of them were still silent as they walked further into the house, Mickey holding the phone out for Ian to take. “It’s for you,” his voice wasn’t necessarily cold, but more of as emotionless as he could make it. Shifting on his feet as Ian grabbed the cell and pressed it to his ear, Mickey sat himself down on the second step of the stairs. “..Hello?” Ian mumbled into the phone, both still sleepy and completely confused with the situation. There was silence on the other end, a crumpling noise that lasted for a second or two, before an all-too familiar voice spoke.

“Ian fucking Gallagher, I swear to God.”

Ian’s stiff posture immediately melted away as he smiled, eyes falling on Mickey for just a moment. “Hey, Mands. I’m glad you’re holding up.” His voice was sincere, although strained, because he knew what was coming next before he even heard it. He put a finger up to Mickey, who shrugged noncommittally as Ian wandered off into the kitchen.

“Yeah, assface, I’m doing fine, if fine includes my best fucking friend never answering his goddamn phone.” although her words were harsh, relief flooded through her voice, making Ian’s skin prickle with warmth. He'd been ignoring calls from everyone since that day, but man, it was so good to hear her voice.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’ve been..trying to get my life back together lately.” He lowered his voice, although he was unsure why he didn’t feel comfortable with Mickey knowing things about his personal life. It’d only been three months.

Mandy’s voice softened, which wasn’t something Ian had expected. “You wanna talk about it?” she murmured, and Ian suddenly wished she were there so they could talk for hours, just catching up and reminiscing. Something in his heart twisted when he realized that likely wouldn’t happen for a while. He wished he’d been enough to make her stay, he wished he’d been enough to tell Mickey that they’d get through this--

He shook his head quickly, because no, that wasn’t the point right now. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve been taking my meds. I have both good days and bad days.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his free hand coming up to rub his face. “I’m doing better. I’m doing so much better, but I’ve still got a ways to go.” He admitted quietly, thankful for the silence that indicated Mandy was listening.

“Okay.” Came her reply, but something in her voice had shifted, and Ian paused, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it quickly. He knew better than to interrupt a Milkovich when they had that tone of voice. He leaned out further into the opening to glance at Mickey, whose head snapped up to meet his gaze. Ian retreated quickly as he waited for Mandy to continue.

“Okay,” she said again, “then I’m gonna fucking talk, because I’m not pleased with you.” He knew they’d have to have this conversation eventually, but he was less than excited with the fact that Mickey was to be less than ten feet away while it was happening. Releasing a long sigh, Ian moved to sit down at the dining table.

“Alright. Lay it on me.” He’d been mentally preparing himself for this talk since the breakup, and yet his stomach was still surely doing flips as he listened to Mandy take a deep breath. He expected yelling, anger, a declaration of the end of their friendship.

What he got was much more heartbreaking.

“You broke him.” She finally said.

It felt like a punch to the gut, completely knocking the wind out of him. He thought back to that day, but it was fuzzy-- He hadn’t taken his medicine in a few days, and was having withdrawals by then. He knew he slept for a good week afterwards, and upon asking about Mickey, he’d received sympathetic looks from the whole family.  


_this is--_

Ian breathed in sharply, his headache doing nothing to help him as he tried to allow the memories to resurface. He knew he broke up with Mickey, he knew that Sammi started chasing him with a gun, but--

_this is it, this is you--_

His head only began to hurt more as he tried to concentrate, breath shaky as he struggled to grasp what little he could remember. expressions, words, emotions, hurt, hurt, hurt, broken. His eyes fell back onto Mickey, watching as the Milkovich kept his attention trained on a bug that was making its way across the carpet.

 _this it. this is you breaking up with me._  
_yeah. -- really? ...fuck._

Mandy was quiet on the other end and Ian attempted to compose himself, eyes falling shut as he finally attempted to speak. “..Yeah, I know.” He finally relented. He’d been pretending, for three months, that the end of their relationship was good for both of them. But Mickey looked like a wreck, and Ian felt like one.

“So do something about it, dipshit! He misses you. All he ever does now is fucking drink. Five times outt’a six when I call him, he’s fucking shitfaced at two in the afternoon.” Mandy hissed, the sympathy from her voice replaced completely by something akin to protectiveness. Ian understood, he’d kick anyone’s ass if they broke his sibling’s hearts, but shit.

“I can’t.” He finally tried, to which he got a ‘tch’ in return. Mickey would never take him back, and Ian didn’t blame him. He’d done some fucked up shit that couldn’t just be swept under the rug with a simple ‘I’m sorry.’

“Do you love him?” She asked, voice tired.

Ian, without hesitation, answered “Yes.” before he could stop himself. He knew he still loved Mickey. He’d loved Mickey since he was fifteen. That didn’t help, that didn’t make this any better, it didn’t make what he did okay. He hurt Mickey beyond recognition.  
“For fuck’s sake, then fix it!” She paused before her voice softened once more. “I have never seen him look at anyone like he looks at you since our mother died. That’s fucking huge, Ian. He loved her. She would’ve liked you.” She fell quiet once more, although it was a comfortable silence as Ian tried to process everything. There was sudden shouting in the background on her end before she spoke again. “I gotta go. Answer your fucking phone next time, jackass. This conversation isn’t over.” and then came the click.

Dumbfounded, Ian stared down at the cellphone in his hands as it moved back to Mickey’s favorites screen. His stomach twisted as he saw his name there, directly under Mandy’s. His contact picture was still the picture they’d taken a couple summers ago.

“Ahem.” Ian scrambled up out of the chair, practically dropping the phone as he fumbled with it. The tips of Mickey’s ears were pink, implying that he had, in fact, seen what Ian had seen. He grabbed his phone out of Ian’s hand and shoved it into his pocket, scowling slightly.

“Gonna have a smoke before I go.” He commented simply as he walked back towards the door. “This ain’t gonna be a weekly thing, Gallagher, so start picking up your damn phone.” Try as he might, his voice had none of the usual snark that it did when he addressed other people. Ian followed quickly after him, and he suddenly felt a tug on his free hand after placing a cigarette in between his lips.

Mickey turned abruptly, brows raised as he eyed Ian’s grip on his wrist. “Can I fuckin’ help you?” he bit out, immediately jerking out of Ian’s hold. They hadn’t spoken in three months, and he hadn’t expected today to be any different. Ian’s tongue darted out against his lips as he searched for something to say. “I’m sorry,” he stated dumbly, and he could practically see Mickey mentally rolling his eyes as he turned to go. “No, Mick, wait-- What I’m trying to say is--”

and yet Mickey continued, stepping into the entryway. His hand on the doorknob, he froze as Ian’s voice rang sincerely through his ears.  


“I love you.”

Mickey turned to stare at the redhead, expression unreadable, before he quickly yanked the door open and stepped out into chilly Chicago air, front door slamming shut behind him. Ian was left there, heart racing, throat dry, unable to even pinpoint what he was feeling at the moment before he had his eye pressed to the peephole, watching as Mickey lit his cigarette, eyes never leaving the Gallagher house.

Ian prayed, hoped, wished that Mickey would come sauntering back up to the door, but was instead forced to watch as he shoved his hands in his pockets and continued down the street as if nothing had happened.

Ian leaned against the door for a good ten minutes before he finally managed to pull himself up the stairs, collapsing into bed to sleep a couple days away. 

Maybe he would forget this by the time he woke up.


End file.
